


Christmas or Presents

by nicholas_de_vilance



Series: My Roomate's a Prostitute [2]
Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-07
Updated: 2013-09-07
Packaged: 2017-12-25 22:34:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/958373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nicholas_de_vilance/pseuds/nicholas_de_vilance
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I had a clingy, adorable, puppy-dog like thing that was six-foot-four and about as graceful as a hippopotamus—so taking a trip to the ice skating rink for a romantic surprise was a no-go area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Christmas or Presents

**Author's Note:**

> This one if from Jensen's POV, not Jared's. Just to clear up any confusion.

Okay, Christmas…

            More accurately, the holidays…

            There is a big difference between spending three Christmases sitting on my sofa with a beer, sucking off some poor lonely shmuck for less than usual and taking into consideration that I have a roommate now. Oh wow, I had a roommate. Not only did I have a roommate, I had a boyfriend, fuck-buddy like thing. I had a clingy, adorable, puppy-dog like thing that was six-foot-four and about as graceful as a hippopotamus—so taking a trip to the ice skating rink for a romantic surprise was a no-go area.

            On Thanksgiving, Jared made me a feast of more foods than I can name—and I _really_ enjoyed that. And once December began, we went on an actual date that involved us, together. Well, I guess the surprising and awkward thing for me was that I was actually going out somewhere and I intended to keep my clothes on. Weird, huh? At any rate, the night was nice and I found out that I can be socially acceptable in public. I surprise even myself sometimes. And apparently Jared too because the night after our outing—a bit of a “shopping trip”—he repaid me with a sloppy-yet-delicious make-out session in the living room that led to hot-hot love making in the bed room. We used some of the things we’d bought, probably not in the way they were intended. Personally, I think that there can’t possibly be another purpose for whipped cream.

            That’s not my point, though! Woah, I am getting way off track, so let’s sally forth without the yummy details, shall we? Sorry.

            Jared is good to me. And yeah, understatement of the year. Jared is _really_ good to me. He cooks for me, he keeps the place clean, he has awesome sex with me, buys me stuff, all while working in a restaurant and going to school. I’m not entirely convinced that I deserve someone as amazing as him, but no way was I complaining, right?

            With Christmas just around the corner, I wanted to do something nice for him. So I had that decided, I would do something shmoopy and nice for my boyfriend and we’d have a good first Christmas together. Then I had to think of what to do, and I hit a wall. What could someone like me do that would make someone like Jared happy? What could a hooker do for a person besides the obvious?

            That was exactly why I ended up at a bar on Christmas Eve. I couldn’t think of any damn thing and I felt so bad about it. I mean, Jared practically bleeds his ever-loving heart out all over me every day and I don’t do a damn thing in return. And now, here was a holiday, a perfect opportunity to show him how much I do care and love him—because I’m pretty sure by now that I love him—and I didn’t even have a present for him. Lord only knows what little token of undying infatuation he’s wrapped up in a box and ribbons for me, and here I was, drinking beer and complaining at a sleezy bartender.

            “I resent that, you know,” Mike said.

            “Resemble, maybe,” I snapped right back at his wry expression.

            “Man, seriously, I’ve met Jared and I’ve seen the way he looks at you. There is nothing that you could possibly do to make the guy love you less.” I watched him as he took a moment to reconsider. “Except for maybe have a hangover on Christmas. Take it easy, will you?”

            “No! You don’t get it, Baldy. He’s always doing me favors and buying me shit when I fucking know that he can barely afford to pay for his classes and everything. When I look at him, I see every inch of his soul just laid bare for me, he doesn’t hold back. I feel like I’m holding back, like _he_ feels like I’m holding back. I don’t know what to do. I’ve never been in a relationship before and I don’t want to fuck this up and he deserves a Christmas present and he deserves a whole lot more than some fucking hooker like me—is that magic marker on your head?”

            “No, it’s Sharpie, but that’s not the point.” Grabbing a cloth to rub furiously on the black words on his smooth scalp, he glared at the only patron left in the bar at midnight on Christmas Eve…me. “If you want to do something special for him _so_ badly, just stop hooking. Stop with the sex for money thing. I mean, how good do you think he feels at night, or even during the day, when he’s at home by himself and knows what you’re doing without him—with _other_ people?”

            And so there it was. I left the bar with my middle finger raised and a light head. Surprisingly enough, there were quite a few people earlier that found use of a man like me even this time of year. I had made three hundred and forty dollars that day, but on my way home, the money felt like a useless wad in my pocket. What would I do with it if I couldn’t spend it on Jared? I never spent money on Jared.

            About then, I started considering it. Quit prostitution. The idea of it made my head spin and none too kindly. How would I pay for our flat? What would I do instead? I had no skills, I didn’t graduate high school, what would I do? No, this was what I was doing, this was what I was good at. Jared had never said that it bugged him, he never did anything that told me he was uncomfortable with what I did. In fact, he never really talked about it at all. He kind of avoided the subject in his own Jared way, and I hadn’t noticed until now.

            Did that mean that he really wanted me to quit, but he didn’t want to tell me? He was always pulling that “keeping secrets for my own good” shit when I wasn’t paying attention, so maybe that was what he was doing now. Maybe he hated it, maybe it made him sick and sooner or later he would just get fed up and dump my sorry ass.

            Hell, I was drunk.

            I started stressing when I got drunk, I’m not sure why I kept doing it? Was it Tuesday?

            “Fuck you!” shouted a bum when I accidentally stepped on his leg. I wasn’t watching where I was going.

            Mumbling out an apology, I stopped and helped him move his pile of junk from one place on the street to another, more inconspicuous place in a corner where the cops wouldn’t see him and where no one had already taken up residence. He lit me a cigarette despite the fact that I don’t smoke.

            We talked for about thirty minutes about how much the holidays sucked and how my kidneys were probably the angriest little things on the planet if my liver was asleep. I’m pretty sure that meant that the guy didn’t appreciate being stepped on. I can’t say that I blame him. I don’t like it either. That’s why I have Jared; he gives me space and he helps me stay on my feet. Man if it weren’t for Jared, I’d probably still be at that bar.

            I was walking again and I knew that I just had to do _something_ for the man in my life. He needed to know that I loved him even though that little bundle of insecurities in my subconscious kept me too damn, chicken shit scared to say it to him. Oh man, he deserved something better than me. I was this filthy, fucked up thing: the broken toy that kids don’t even try to fix. I’m a failure at everything I set out to do.

            Except hooking. I can do that really well, and I never get turned down. Jared didn’t turn me down.

            But Jared’s _not_ just a client. He’s more than a client.

            Still, I fuck him just like every other man this side of Eureka. Why is he so special when everyone else and their brother has had this piece of ass?

            Because he’s _Jared_ and he loves me and when I’m with him I feel loved.

            I’m just a slut, a slut that he fell in love with because he’s a naïve, little boy.

            _Not_ little, thank you very much. He’s very big…I mean tall…and yeah, big.

            See? I can’t even think in terms that don’t have something to do with sex. Why does he bother with me? A whore like me?

            I need sleep.

 

“Jensen…”

            I woke up to his arms around my shoulders and his lips just inches from mine. It must have been very romantic and very beautiful to have him there like that, within arm’s reach, half naked with “just woke up” scruffiness. Unfortunately, that was when the hangover set in and I got up and out of bed as fast as possible.

            Half of my stomach and other internal organs later, I could sit semi-comfortably with my face pressed against the toilet seat and my eyes closed against the pounding in my head. _Way to go, Romeo. Some Christmas morning, I’m sure he just loves to see you like this._ But when Jared’s voice inevitably descended over me, he didn’t sound angry or disappointed. His voice came out just like every other time I’d come home drunk, understanding—infinitely understanding. _I don’t deserve you._

            “Merry Christmas, Jack Daniels.”

            Clearing my throat, I attempted with much pain to twist my neck around and look at his face. He was smiling, the smug bastard. “More like Jose and Smirnoff.”

            My temples beat like snare drums in time with my heart hammering against my chest. I considered getting up. My stomach considered relocating itself on the outside of my body. I settled on staying where I was.

            Unexpectedly, a pair of arms circled loosely around me from behind and Jared positioned himself behind me. He stroked a loving hand down my chest and belly. “You okay? You came in pretty late last night.”

            “How late?” I inquired with a wince.

            “Around one-thirty, I think. I was waiting up for you.”

            “Shouldn’t have done that.”

            “Why?”

            “Cause I’m a dick.”

            His hand slipped up my side and over my face, turning my head to look at him. “Are we going to have to have ‘the conversation’ again? Just give the word and I’ll break out the Ben & Jerry’s.” The gaze he was giving me was much too intense for the lightness of his words.

            I playfully jammed my elbow into his side. When he feigned some sort of agony in excuse to squeeze his arms tighter around me, he tugged me against his chest and pressed his face into the back of my neck. Sometimes I figured that his lovey-dovey attitude should be nauseating, but it wasn’t really. It should probably have smothered me, what he did on a daily basis, but in all honesty, it helped me breathe. “Fuck you,” I muttered in a way that meant “I love you.” By his chuckle, I knew that he understood.

            “What’s bugging you? I mean more than usual.”

            “Nothing….merry Christmas.”

            I could feel the hesitation and practically hear the questions that should have spilled forth. I was mentally preparing myself to deal with the onslaught, but it never came. After a few moments, Jared leaned back into me again and sighed. “Okay then, you should get up and come to the living room. I got you something.”

            Before I could protest, he was up and there was a very cold spot on my back where a very warm Jared had just been. Okay, so maybe he didn’t endlessly badger me about my feelings or the reason I drank myself stupid last night, but this was a bit worse. This was sitting and waiting for a death sentence that you aren’t sure is coming or when. This was the cold shoulder given by someone who had no idea that they were giving the cold shoulder. I forced myself up to run after him.

            My stomach then decided that it had more business with the toilet, but about ten minutes later I forced myself up and ran after him.

            “Jay, I—”

            “Merry Christmas,” he insisted, thrusting an oblong-shaped package into my arms. It was about as big as a dictionary and it was heavy. The paper that was wrapped tightly—almost professionally—around it was deep purple and decorated with little, light blue snowmen. When I looked up at him from the smiling men with broomsticks and pipes, he motioned for me to unwrap it.

            “What is it?”

            “The point of the paper is so that you have to take it off and then find out for yourself and be all surprised and _ooo look at this_ or something. Not so I can tell you before you open it.”

            I looked at him, framed in the perfect image of a Christmas living room. It had been Jared’s goal of the month to clean up the place and hang cords of fake plants and lights all around. He’d gotten a tree and everything and cajoled me into helping him cover it in breakable figurines and even a star on top. Before this year, I never would have thought that my massive living room could look so cozy and lived in until Jared’s now fully developed homosexual sense of home decorating. I looked from his beautiful, hopeful puppy-dog eyes to the Santa Claus throw he’d bought and tossed over the couch about a week ago, back to his eyes again. My heart literally wrenched in my chest as I turned the package over in my hands.

            Swallowing around the guilty lump in my throat, I dug my finger under the seam of the wrapping paper and ripped it to the side. It was a book—except that it had no words and the pages were made of some vinyl material. I bunched the paper into a ball and tossed it on the couch so that I could hold the leather binding in both hands. Two bright, gold words shone up from the worn leather, proclaiming “Photo Album.”

            “What is this for?”

            “Holding pictures,” the smart ass stated with a smirk.

            “Yeah, but I don’t have any—” He cut me off by putting yet another present in my hands. Another one. As if the first one didn’t already set the score monumentally uneven.

            It was smaller, just a little box about the area of an index card and as thick as an iPod. I hoped to god it wasn’t an mp3 player. That just wouldn’t be fair. Pulling away the dark green, leaf-imprinted paper, I saw that it was just a box. Inside, there was a stack of pictures, photographs of people being happy. I laughed when I recognized myself on almost every one of them as I shuffled through. They weren’t the most flattering of images, but the ones that had Jared in them as well were worth salvaging. We were always holding each other or smiling or laughing.

            “When did you—?”

            “Whenever I could borrow a camera. Remember Chad’s birthday party?”

            “He the guy that kept calling me a ‘big homo’ when he was drunk?” I shuffled through the little deck again and pulled out a group picture of a few guys that I recognized as Jared’s school friends, me and Jared all hugging a lanky man. Chad was the one in the midst of the Mosh Pit, with the buzz cut and the look of “God, why have you done this to me?” on his face.

            Jared’s big goofy smile grew wider. “Yeah, Misha took that one with his digital. In fact, he helped me come up with this idea.”

            “What idea?” I put the pictures back in the box and set that and the photo album down on the coffee table. “Besides, this album looks a bit too big and fancy for a handful of party pictures.” How was I supposed to know that he wasn’t done yet?

            Low and behold, the moment I turned back around to face him, he was pushing another brightly-colored box against my chest. This whole situation was threatening to make me burst into tears—and wouldn’t that just be lovely? I refuse to be the hormonal woman in this relationship when I am sober. “Where the hell are you hiding all of these?” I demanded, hesitantly taking what I hoped was the last gift.

            He just smiled proudly and waited for me to open it. Uncertainly, I looked down at smiling reindeer and wondered what the hell else he could have possibly gotten me to fit this theme. I was already down two points as far as the gift-giving went and I felt so bad about it that he must have noticed by now. It wasn’t that I didn’t like all the things he did for me, in fact I loved it. He made me feel more loved than I had in the entire course of my existence.

            For a while now, I found myself not wanting to spend my life without him. I couldn’t fathom the idea of break up anymore. Before, the relationship had been fragile and new—something that neither of us had been through. After about a month of Jared’s undying devotion to me, having anything else between us was laughable. In fact, I’d thought about taking pictures of us before. I’d entertained the idea of recording every passing moment of our lives together, even joked about it with Jared a few times…oh shit.

            “No, you did not get me a camera,” I snapped, halfway through pulling the wrapping off and tossing in on the couch in a big ball.

            Jared’s smug-assed smile wrapped like a vice around my heart and I seriously wanted to cry. I pulled open the box and took out the little, green digital camera. “Why did you do all of this?” I asked him.

            The weight of it all pushed against my shoulders and heaved me down against the couch. And wow, I must have seemed like quite a piece of work. Here he was giving me a heartfelt Christmas gift and I felt angry. I wasn’t mad at him, not as much as I was at myself. Since I moved out of the house when I was fifteen, I sort of coasted through life caring about only myself and my stuff. Then there was Jared invading my space in that way that made me want to do everything for him, give everything to him. But I couldn’t. I didn’t know how and it made me want to throw up; it made me sick.

            Of course, Jared cared too much about me for his own good and sat himself down right next to me. He wrapped his long, strong arms around me like and envelope of heat and love. “What’s wrong?”

            I looked at the block-shaped camera with the light-green shine and turned it over in my hands. “Nothing,” I told him.

            So what if my voice sounded dismal? So what if I was about to cry and the sting at the back of my throat made my tone jump? He pulled me closer and arranged my head on his shoulder. I wanted to pull away; it felt dirty and wrong, as if I was deceiving him somehow by letting him hold me.

“Talk to me,” he demanded gently, breath hot and comforting against the side of my face. “Is this too much? Do you not like it?”

            I shook my head, afraid that my voice might betray me. Jared never failed to be what I wasn’t expecting, what I didn’t think I could handle. “I love it,” I whispered, just able to keep the whimper away from my throat.

            “Then, what?”

            “I didn’t get you anything,” I admitted. Sounded like a death sentence in my own ears.

            Much to my confusion, I felt him chuckle deep in his chest and run a hand over my hair. “Is that all?”

            “What?”

            “I don’t care about that, silly.” I looked up at him to find him smiling. Well, more like he was smirking at me—like he knew a secret and he wasn’t telling me. I glared at him: how could he find this funny when I felt like shit? “Dude, why do you think that I care if you didn’t get me anything?”

            “Because it’s Christmas,” I stated. _Duh_. “And you always get me stuff, even when you can’t think of a reason for it, and I know you can’t afford it over your school stuff. But I _can_! I mean, I could buy you a new fucking motorcycle if you wanted it, but I just…I don’t…”

            “I _have_ a motorcycle, I don’t need a new one.” Still with that smug-assed smirk.

            “That’s not the point. I _could_ , and I can, but I just don’t. When it comes down to it, I just can’t think of what…I wanna do something for you. I want to give something back to you because of all of this that you give me. You deserve to be given things and doted on.”

            I was about to start scolding myself and I’m sure that he noticed it. He didn’t let me go on. In about the time it takes for a bullet to leave the barrel of the gun, he’d leaned down and pressed our lips together. Kissing Jared was like what I imagine the best high in the world would be. Where I was usually very passionate and downright sloppy with kissing, he was chaste and gentle. Every time, without fail, he pulled away blushing like a grade school student, just like now.

            He didn’t take his gaze away from my eyes and his smile faded just a little. “You know, love isn’t buyable.”

            For a second, that statement couldn’t quite make it past the fact that I was currently pulled over his lap so that to hold myself up I had to keep my hands on his legs. I had to keep my hands on his _thighs_ , right next to his crotch. Then, it hit me. _Love isn’t buyable._ I am, though. There isn’t a price too low for even the ugliest, greasiest shmuck out there.

            A nasty taste sneaked up the back of my throat and out over my tongue. All I could make myself do was bury my face in the crook between his head and shoulder. If I was gonna be a mopey sap and start crying over this shit, he wasn’t going to see it.

            “Jensen?” his voice was a light mumble into my ear.

            On an off note, I realized that I was still holding the camera and that he must have been pressed very uncomfortable into his hip bone. I didn’t move it.

            “Jen?” he asked again, “I love you anyway, you know that, right?”

            “Yeah, I just can’t figure out why.”

            When he moved, I thought he was trying to push me away; I thought I’d made him mad again. I tended to have that affect on him when I was feeling like this, so I started to pull away from him. Surprisingly, he clamped his arms around my shoulders and restrained me down against his chest with so much force that I had a hard time breathing.

            “You,” he began on a light-hearted chuckle, “are being entirely too serious, and I don’t like it.”

            “Wha—?”

            “Now, I just gave you some goddamned presents and you’ve admitted that you like them so stop with the fucking sulking and take a goddamned picture of me.” Quickly, he gave a soft gasp as if in epiphany and added: “of both of us.”


End file.
